Thorns or Roses?
by CandiFloss
Summary: "Icy blue met fiery brown." Elizabeth Bennet was not ready for many things. A goldfish, for one. Her own apartment, for another. And, although she didn't know it yet, she was most definitely not ready for William Darcy.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Ready or Not 

Elizabeth Bennet was not ready for many things.

A goldfish, for one, if her dismal attempt to keep one alive in Year 3 was anything to go by.

Her own apartment, for another, as was evident from her pathetic dependence on Charlotte for even the most basic of life's necessities. Like toilet paper. Or _food_.

And one thing Lizzy was most definitely not ready for was a relationship. Not a boyfriend, not a fiancée and most certainly _not_ a husband.

It was just a pity her mother didn't seem to understand this.

And so it happened that, one sunny morning in Surrey, Lizzy, instead of heading off to do whatever it is normal 23-year-olds do with their weekends, somehow ended up sitting on a ratty sofa with her eyes glued to the telly, attempting (in vain, she'd like to add) to drown out the ongoing cacophony that was her mother's voice.

"And I've heard, you know, that Netherfield estate….you know which one I'm speaking about, don't you, Lizzy?...has been _rented _at long last, and to a bachelor, as well!"

Mrs. Bennet's enthusiasm, unfortunately, didn't appear to be contagious. Upon hearing this latest news, Lizzy merely groaned and sank deeper into the sofa cushions, contemplating that this may possibly be the worst thing that could happen to her right now.

Because, to her mother's everlasting woe, she was single, and planned on remaining so for a considerable amount of time. However, due to Mrs. Bennet's insane matchmaking skills, she'd been trapped into numerous blind dates over the last few years, all of which ultimately led to disaster. Except for that one time….Lizzy shook her head quickly, not allowing herself the luxury of lingering on that memory. _What's happened has happened_, she reminded herself sternly. _No point in wasting any more time on him._

With that cheerful thought echoing in her mind, Lizzy forced herself to look up and plastered a smile on her face that in actuality more closely resembled a grimace. Not that Mrs. Bennet noticed, of course, she was far too absorbed in rattling off more interesting factoids about their to-be neighbor. Lizzy learned that his name was Charles Bingley, he was an aspiring actor who'd starred in a few shoddy ads and sung a music video, and he was supposedly in possession of a considerable fortune.

And, as her mother insisted on telling her constantly, a single man in possession in good fortune _must _be in want of a wife. She stuck firmly to this idea, and nothing Lizzy said (she'd tried everything from sarcasm to screams) made Mrs. Bennet give any indication of changing her Victorian-era notions.

A _wife_, for crying out loud! As if a budding actor needed any more burdens! Not about to tell her mother this, Lizzy scoffed, and tried to focus on the TV (Ashley had just discovered she was in love with Brett, but Brett loved Ashley's best friend, Laura….it was _captivating_ to watch, really….). However enthralling the soap was, Lizzy felt a wave of relief wash over her when the cuckoo clock in the kitchen struck 12.

"Mum, I've got to go," she blurted out, almost tripping over herself in her hurry to get out. "I promised Jane I'd meet her." Hurriedly gathering her bag, she gave her mother an obligatory kiss on the cheek and was almost to the door before Mrs. Bennet caught up to her.

"Oh, Lizzy, I wish you wouldn't always rush out like this!" Mrs. Bennet said, looking so genuinely upset that Lizzy almost felt guilty. Almost. "You know I get lonely up here."

Lizzy rolled her eyes, managing a small smile at her mother's antics. "Don't be silly, Mum. You've got Dad, and Lydia and Kitty come 'round all the time."

"Oh, your father!" sighed Mrs. Bennet, fanning herself delicately with one had. "He'll be the death of me, he will. You know, sometimes I think he just wants to be rid of me! Working all hours in the office like he does…" She'd gone quite red at this point and Lizzy, alarmed at her sudden outburst, cautiously guided them both back to the sofa.

When she'd sufficiently recovered, Mrs. Bennet lowered her voice to a conspirational whisper and murmured to her daughter, "You wouldn't believe this, dear, but I don't think he's going to visit Charles when he settles in! Says he doesn't want to overwhelm the poor man right at the beginning, although what he can mean by that, I haven't the faintest…"

Now that her mother wasn't as ruddy in complexion, Lizzy breathed a sigh of relief and resigned herself to another half-hour's worth of rambling about the magnificent and illustrious Charles Bingley, all the time wondering if digging through the floor with a spoon was a plausible escape route.

* * *

_Where could she possibly be? _Lizzy wondered, impatiently checking the time on her phone again. This definitely wasn't like Jane…she was practically the epitome of "punctual". Well, strictly speaking, Jane was the epitome of everything good in this world. Just like the old rhyme went, _sugar and spice and all things nice…._The apple of her mother's eye, Jane was a tall, gorgeous blonde who embodied style, class, grace, and to top it all off she was, infuriatingly, just about the nicest person Lizzy knew. If she weren't so bloody loveable, Jane would be a fantastic person to hate.

Just as Lizzy had decided to hang it all and call Scotland Yard if Jane didn't show up in the next two minutes, she saw the girl in question running down the street in apparent disarray, yelling at Lizzy to, "Please wait up…oh, _do_ stop, Lizzy, I'm sorry!"

At the sight of her sister, Lizzy couldn't stop a broad grin from spreading over her face and caught Jane up in a giant hug. "Would you stop apologizing, you silly goose?" she chided, still smiling. "Although," she added thoughtfully, "it's definitely a good thing you showed up when you did, or you might have had the police on your trail!"

Jane flushed and fussed about being late closing up shop and was generally so annoyingly _loveable _in demeanor that no one in their right senses could stay angry with her for long. In the end, they ended up strolling down a street, chatting about nothing, until something happened and Jane stopped in her tracks.

"Jane?" Lizzy inquired, concerned. Her sister, who was usually calm, cool and collected under any circumstances, turned a shade of deep coral and mumbled, "Lizzy, do you see that man over there? The pale one in blue?"

Following her gaze, Lizzy spotted a fair-haired man with dark, twinkling eyes who was accompanied by a girl and two other men. "Yes, what about him?"

"Lizzy, that's _Charles Bingely_!" Jane breathed, clutching at Lizzy's arm so tightly she worried for her circulation. "He came into the shop earlier wanting directions to a law firm. We started talking, and…"

"And what, Jane?" Lizzy teased her sister, who was now blushing so shyly it was almost comical. "You fell head over heels in love with him at first glance? You're eloping in Gretna Green? You're planning on a flat with two kids and a dog?"

Jane turned, her smile replaced by a stern frown. "Not you, too, Lizzy! He was a very nice man!"

"You know what's even nicer?" Lizzy baited, the smirk still visible on her face. "Mum was telling me about him just today! I think she's got him picked out as her future son-in-law in any case, so it's a beautifully convenient that you just _happened_ to fall for him right on schedule!"

"Oh, do stop it! You can try all you like to embarrass me, but it doesn't change the fact that he's a very nice man, and he's going to be at Charlotte's party tonight!" Jane blurted out, seemingly very distressed over her sister's disregard of her adoration.

Lizzy stopped and turned a ghastly shade of white. "_What_?" she gasped. "Tonight? Jane, you don't understand! Mum's never going to let us hear the end of this! She'll keep nagging, and nagging, until one day you find you've woken up a fat housewife in Manchester!"

This caused Jane to erupt in peals of laughter, which was a welcome change from her nervous fidgeting. "Lizzy, how you go on!"

Scoffing, Lizzy blustered on, "Who even invited them? We barely know them, why on earth….so what, are we going to go take a pie up to the Hudsons now? Never mind that we can't stand them, let's just invite the whole world, shall we..." Her rant was abruptly cut short with a look at her sister's wide-eyed, hurt face.

In a timid voice, Jane reluctantly admitted, "I invited him. Lizzy, he was so nice! And he's new, and he said he wanted to meet people…"

"He wanted to meet _you_! Jane, you idiot, he was flirting with you, probably getting up to asking you out or something….before you opened your big mouth and invited him to a party he had no interest in going to!"

Jane looked crushed, but didn't relent. "Lizzy, what would you have done? If he wants to meet people, a party's the best place to do it."

Lizzy grunted in sour agreement and turned her attention to the rest of the party. The girl seemed innocuous enough, if rather an idiot. She had bleached hair piled high in an updo and garish lipstick that matched the tacky, fire-engine red of her nail polish.

One of the men appeared middle-aged, with a paunch and a neatly trimmed mustache. He was, at that moment, downing a sizeable glass of something strong at the table where they all sat, seemingly lost to the world at the moment.

Out of all four people in the group, one man in particular managed to catch Lizzy's eye. He was exceptionally tall, with dark, striking features, and Lizzy would have thought him extraordinarily handsome had it not been for the proud twist of his mouth and an arrogant glint in his cold blue eyes. She decided that being good-looking was an entire waste on this man, who obviously thought himself superior to everyone else….just the sort of person Lizzy absolutely detested. Despite her initial instinct, Lizzy found she couldn't look away from him. The timing of her scrutiny was unfortunate, however, because just at that moment, the man turned towards her and for one infinitesimal moment in the rolling winds of time, their eyes locked.

Icy blue met fiery brown.

Just as quickly as the moment had come, it passed. Lizzy looked away and suppressed a silent shiver. No, she decided, whoever he was, she didn't like him at all.

Elizabeth Bennet wasn't ready for many things. A goldfish, for one. Her own apartment, for another.

And, although she didn't know it yet, she was most _definitely _not ready for William Darcy.

* * *

Hello, lovelies! So, this is my first fanfiction, and I am open to any and all opinions (yes, even flames!). But remember, reviews get cookies! And who knows, I may continue this...we'll see!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: If anyone saw that fake chapter before I got a chance to take it down, please accept my profuse apologies! As I said before, I'm new to this, so please bear with me and enjoy the fast update .

Disclaimer: (since I forgot to put one in the chapter before) Obviously, I own none of Jane Austen's marvelous characters or story-lines.

Chapter 2: The Reappearance of a Stranger

When she'd gotten home, Lizzy had found Charlotte sprawled across the couch, languidly skimming a fashion mag and sipping a Coke. She seemed to have no idea, or deliberately ignored, the chaotic clutter of the house surrounding her.

Lizzy grinned and rolled her eyes before roughly shaking her up. "Char, there's going to be a party here in a few hours, the flat looks like a pigsty, and you're sitting around on your bum! Get up!"

Charlotte responded to this by whacking her on the arm with the magazine. "Chill, Liz….all we've got to do is pick up a few things. It's not a _party_ party, anyway…I couldn't get the beer."

"And what a tragedy that is!" Lizzy laughed, beginning to go around the room picking up random odds and ends that were scattered about. What on earth was her lip balm doing behind the TV? "Maybe it's for the best…at least this time, Lydia won't drive into a lamp-post on her way home."

"Lydia's coming?" Charlotte sat up and groaned. "Liz, I love your sister, but don't you remember what happened last time?"

Lizzy covered her face with a discarded sweater that had been slung over the AC vent and grimaced. "I try not to…."

Charlotte raised her eyebrows, and pressed her mouth into a thin, straight line. "No? So you don't remember the five straight drunk renditions of Toxic? Or the jumping into the pool in her underwear? Or the…."

"Char!" Lizzy sighed, and tossed the sweater into the laundry basket, in the corner of their room. "Yes, I know she gets a little carried away…."

"A little?" scoffed Charlotte, looking ready to tick off more absurd Lydia stories.

"Okay, okay…but she invited herself, Jane let it slip, you know how she is…and you try keeping Lydia away from a party!"

Grunting in acknowledgement, Charlotte finally stood and carted the laundry basket away. Over her shoulder, she called back, "Keep her away from the pool!"

Lizzy chuckled and, seeing that the room was more or less organized, flopped into a chair, suddenly exhausted. It was only four in the afternoon, but she felt wiped out. First her mother, then Jane with her Bingley, and that awful man, and….

"Oh!" she said, sitting up. "Char, I just remembered! Jane invited some man to the party, and I think he's bringing some friends."

"Sure," Charlotte told her wearily, sinking into the seat next to her. "The more the merrier, I suppose. What's his name?"

"Charles Bingley, I think," Lizzy said, her mind unwillingly wandering to the mystery man.

As she heard that, Charlotte squealed and clasped her hands together in excitement. "Charles Bingley! How on earth did she manage that?"

Lizzy frowned, and asked, "Why? Is he special?"

Charlotte sighed dramatically, slapping her hand to her forehead. "Liz, you daft dimbo! Charles Bingley? Sung Heartbreak, Heartache? I listen to it all the time!"

Shrugging, Lizzy replied, "Nope. Mum told me he was some sort of ….I dunno, aspiring actor?"

"He is! He tweeted he was trying out for some big role…" Charlotte had a sparkle in her eye that Lizzy had, over the years, learned to be wary of. "And he's here! I knew he was, I follow him, but I never thought, not in my wildest daydreams, that he would come to my party…" she sighed happily.

"_Our_ party!" Lizzie cried indignantly, but couldn't stop a smile cracking across her face.

Charlotte dismissed her with a wave of her hand. "Whatever, Liz. He's hot, he's rich, and he's here! Don't tell me you aren't going to take advantage of that!"

Lizzy, in a defeated manner, shook her head from side to side. "I'm not. Jane's called dibs."

"Aw, really?" Charlotte's face was twisted into a petulant frown.

Giving her friend a hug, Lizzy reassured her, "Dibs don't count for you, though! Go after him, tiger."

"Nah…" Charlotte muttered, looking like she just fell from seventh heaven. "As if I could compete with Jane."

"Oh, Char," Lizzy sighed, furrowing her brow at her friend. Charlotte, while not supermodel-esque like Jane, was still very pretty in an unconventional way. She only wished that Char could someday come to see that.

Charlotte's broken heart didn't seem to last very long, however. With a shake of her head, she quickly went on, "Never mind him, Liz…plenty of fish in the sea! Let's move on to the really important details…." she waggled her eyebrows mischievously, "what are you going to wear?"

* * *

_This is a disaster._ Lizzy groaned inwardly as she dismally surveyed the scene in front of her. Well, maybe not a disaster in a technical sense of the term. There was music so loud it echoed in her eardrums, greasy food, and people dancing extremely close to each other. It just wasn't her scene. Dim lights, sweat, and a huge mess to clean up afterwards…where was the fun in that?

"Oh, cheer up, Liz," Charlotte sang, taking a break from the dance-floor only to snag a drink. "Don't be such a wallflower! Dance, laugh, have fun! Live a little."

"Shut up, Char," muttered Lizzy, thinking that if the music got any louder her head might just explode.

Charlotte made a face. "Killjoy," she smirked, handing Lizzy the drink she'd just poured for herself. "Here, drink this. You definitely need it more than I do." With that parting sting, she waltzed away, belting out the lyrics to the song as she left.

Drearily, Lizzy closed her eyes and stoically tried to down a little of Charlotte's latest concoction….some type of fruit cocktail that left a bad taste in her mouth. Maybe there _was_ something wrong with her. Everyone else definitely seemed to be having a ball, and it wasn't as though it was a _bad_ party, per se, as far as parties go, really….

Suddenly, all thoughts were wiped from her mind as she gaped, open-mouthed, at the man who had just sauntered in through the door. He was fair and stocky, with a good-natured face and rugged features. Grinning cockily, he walked towards her and said, "Lizzy...beautiful as ever, I see."

"George?" she sputtered, tongue-tied, her mind racing with a million questions while her lips seemed incapable of forming a coherent sentence. "George _Wickham_?"

* * *

Tilted his head curiously, Wickham flashed that dazzling smile that had once sent warm flutters all through her body. Now, watching him, she just felt numb. Numb and cold.

"Of course it's me, love," he continued, completely unfazed by her reaction, or lack thereof. "What, you didn't miss me?" With that, he slipped into the seat next to her, his movements as fluid as water, and began to cover her hand with his own.

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Lizzy snatched her hand away, a horrified expression burned onto her face. "What the hell, Wickham?" she hissed, narrowing her eyes into slits. Her heart was pounding against her ribs, and her palms bore a faint sheen of sweat. _What did he want? What did he want _now_?_

Aghast, she went on, "You disappear from the face of the earth for what, eight months? Eight...bloody…months. No phone, no email, no contact whatsoever. And now you waltz back in here….to what? Apologize?"

He cut her harangue short with a chuckle, holding up his hands in a mocking way. "Hold your horses, sweetheart! At least give me a chance to explain…"

"Explain what, exactly?" Lizzy spat back. "Last I heard, you were shacking up someplace with Sarah freaking King…" She broke off, swallowing hard. Her finger still burned in the place where his ring had once been.

Seeing her expression, Wickham's features softened just a tad. "Whoa," he said, looking as though he wanted to touch her again but didn't dare to. "You knew I'd gotten into a bit of trouble…you wouldn't help me, so is it _really _my fault I found someone who would?"

"Yeah?" Lizzy felt overwhelmed, the tears prickling behind her eyelids threatening to spill. "And how did that work out for you?" She was so furious she could feel herself shaking now, and her migraine caused his words to echo in her brain. Clumsily, she stood up and began walking away, her head spinning and her vision fogging up again. She didn't care…her only thought at that moment was to get away, to get out of here, and to do it as fast as possible. Who the hell did he think he was, coming back here, coming back now, after all this time….after he'd broken her heart, after he'd shattered her world with false promises….Her head pounding, she couldn't hear the slapping of his footsteps chasing after her, and only noticed when it was too late.

Grabbing her wrist from behind, Wickham turned her around roughly to face him. His face was contorted, but out of anger or hurt, she couldn't tell. "It wasn't my fault," he whispered furiously. "You wouldn't help me…."

"And that's my bloody fault now, is it?" Lizzy almost laughed aloud, her fatigue and shock finally beginning to catch up to her. "My fault that I wouldn't put myself on the line for a petty…a petty_ thief_!"

Wickham flinched, but his grip on her arm was as tight as ever. "I didn't…" he began saying in a low voice.

Lizzy decided she'd had enough, and tried to twist her wrist out of his hold. "I don't care, George. You know what, I just….I'm done. Let me go." When he still wouldn't relent, she started to struggle for real, panic bubbling in her chest. "Wickham, let me go!"

All at once, seemingly coming from nowhere, a strong punch landed squarely in Wickham's face.

Lizzy gasped, and turned her eyes up to see who'd thrown the punch, and felt ready to faint when she recognized his face. It was him, his cold blue eyes burning with the fury as he looked down Wickham.

Glowering, Wickham stood up to stare into the man's face. Blood trickled down his nose, an eerie stream of crimson, as he sneered one word:

_"Darcy."_

* * *

Thanks to everyone who favourited this story or put it on alert! You guys made my day :)! Special thanks to those of you who reviewed - virtual cookies to all of you!

Remember, I'm new at this so any criticism is welcome! Reviews are loved!

Oh, and what do you guys think of a Darcy POV chapter? Just an idea I was playing around with for a bit...

Reviews = updates :)))


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So here it is, my first Darcy POV! Enjoy! Let me know what you think of it! :)

* * *

Chapter 4: Encounters (_Darcy POV)_

His ragged breathing seemed to resonate thunderously in the silence of the room, and his fist tingled with the impact of a punch that had been years in the making. It felt like everyone was holding their breath, waiting with wide eyes to see who'd be the first to make a move. Like at the scene of a car crash, no one seemed to be able to look away – horrified and entranced at the same time, dozens of eyes followed Darcy's every movement as he raked through his hair with a shaking hand, trying his very best to control his anger.

In all honesty, Darcy himself was having trouble recollecting the events of the last few minutes. All he remembered was making small talk to Caroline, all the while wondering if this disaster of a party would ever come to an end, when a familiar face emerged in the corner of his eye. A face which, however familiar, he'd prayed he'd never lay eyes on again.

Seeing him after all these years struck a chord somewhere deep internally; a slumbering beast within his chest rose just as the sight of him. Rage, the like of which he hadn't felt in years, built up and the anger that had fermented for years inside him reached a peak. Drawing in a slow breath, he'd willed himself to calm down. After all, Wickham had promised he'd change….and who knew, maybe he had.

_But after what he'd done to Georgie_…Clenching his fists so hard he could feel his knuckles whiten, Darcy just watched Wickham silently for a bit, forcing himself to give the man a chance before taking any course of action.

He'd watched as Wickham slid into the party scene in his usual charming, oily manner; he'd watched as he casually flirted with the young girl Darcy knew to be called Lydia (from Caroline, of course, who'd wasted no time in pointing her out and listing countless reasons why she was a perfect example why "they" – they being the London elites, of course – should be nowhere near this scene). He'd watched as, after Wickham slipped away from Lydia, he had ambled casually to the opposite corner of the room, seeming to be intent on chatting up a girl who was veiled in shadows. As she'd sat up straighter, revealing her face to his line of vision, Darcy couldn't suppress a sharp intake of breath.

It was _her_. The girl whose eyes had sparked and flashed and danced in the blistering noontime sun. And now, because of that _slime_, those very same orbs were wide with panic, with fear, and with the remnants of a past infatuation that had haunted Georgie's eyes for ages.

Darcy had felt the rage flare up by the hundredfold at that moment. An oddly protective surge had been kindled within him, and, although he couldn't begin to fathom why, he felt as if that girl, the girl with the dazzling, innocent eyes, the type of girl that bottom-feeders like Wickham preyed on, began to be _his_ responsibility, and if Wickham ever laid his grubby hands on her…

And when she'd stood up and asserted herself by walking away, he breathed a sigh of relief. The sigh was abruptly cut short he'd spotted Wickham determinedly chasing after her, his footsteps echoing in Darcy's brain, bringing to surface old memories he'd tried so valiantly to bury forever.

But as he'd grabbed her wrist, Darcy gave up all charade of indifference. He was _done_ watching this bastard ruin young lives, he was _done_ watching him toy with hearts and discard them like yesterday's news, he was _done_ watching girls go through what his sister had suffered only a few years ago.

This was the point where Darcy's memories began to get a little fuzzy. Vaguely, he remembered shooting to his feet, quickly and clumsily, knocking over Caroline's glass as he did so. He remembered striding across the room with purpose, and he remembered the girl's enormous, terrified eyes as she struggled in Wickham's grip. He remembered lifting his arm, with every intention of _killing_ the cretin, and then...nothing. Just a blur, a blur of strangled pleas in a feminine voice and a lingering burning sensation in his hand.

And here he was now, the center of attention in a room silenced by his actions. The quiet threatened to overwhelm him, and he debated whether or not to say something, to say anything, to break the tension.

But it was the girl, finally, who was the first to speak out. Her eyes wild and her whole body trembling, she shouted to Darcy, in a voice hoarse with fear, "What the bloody hell is _wrong_ with you?" Before anyone could stop her, she was running, and the only trace she'd ever been there to begin with was the echoing bang of the door as she slammed it furiously behind her.

And Darcy was left thinking that yes – this was definitely the worst bloody party he'd ever been to.

* * *

A/N: How was it? I've got to admit, I was pretty nervous about this, but I'm actually really pleased with how it turned out! If I get a good response from this, I might do another one :D! As always, thanks to those who reviewed – I appreciate you guys taking the time to do that. If I could, I'd hand out brownies to all of you!

Read and review, guys!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: So, some of you have been wondering why Lizzy reacted so oddly to the events of the last chapter. Hopefully, this update will make it a little clearer, and, if you still don't understand, don't worry. It's getting there :P

* * *

Chapter 5: Morning Dew

The bright glare of the morning sun was seeping into her room through a crack in her curtains. Her alarm had gone off no less than five times, and each time she'd smashed the snooze button so violently that her fingers were beginning to redden. The broken staccato of a half-heard bird-song filtered through her window, and, just outside her room, Charlotte was humming to herself in her usual off-key fashion as she fixed a cup of coffee. Put simply, early morning proceedings were going as per usual in the dingy London flat Lizzy Bennet called home.

And still, she slept.

Somewhere in her subconscious, the hidden thought behind her actions was that if she slept, maybe it would seem like it never happened. Maybe she'd wake up and realize it was all a nightmare. However, even in slumber, Lizzy's ever-present rational mind tickled against her conscience. _Wake up_, it seemed to whisper. _Wake up and face your fears. Isolation won't make them magically disappear. _

This nagging part of her brain was a persistent little bugger. No matter how many times she squeezed her eyes close shut with a vengeance or forced herself to tune out the damn logical voice, it just wouldn't leave her alone.

Maybe because, somewhere deep inside, she knew it was right. She was Elizabeth Bennet, for crying out loud! And right now, she was no better than pathetic girls who cried themselves to sleep with a pint of ice cream while watching a soap on TV. What was the point of this? Eventually, she reasoned, reluctantly opening her eyes, she'd have to get up anyway. And, like her father always told her, "The sooner the better, but rather late than never."

Groaning, she peeled herself from the alluring call of her duvet and wiped the crust from her eyelashes. A glance in the mirror above her desk confirmed that she looked just as terrible as she felt. Her hair, which had never been shampoo-commercial worthy to begin with, was now piled around her head in a manner reminiscent of Medusa, the tangled knots framing her face like a lion's mane. The hollows beneath her eyes were dark with the evidence of fitful sleep, and she'd fallen back into her old stress habit of biting her lip as she slept, and the bruises were raw and tender.

The chirping of the birds rang in her still-fuzzy mind caused her to grimace. _What were they so bloody cheerful about? _Sighing, she stood, hating the sudden lightheadedness she felt as the result of Charlotte's ghastly concoction. It was going to be a bloody awful day.

* * *

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!" Charlotte trilled as an extremely groggy Lizzy shuffled into the kitchen. Her voice was just as carefree and warm as ever, yet Lizzy could sense an undertone of caution hidden beneath it. Like everyone else, Charlotte seemed to be worried for her mental health.

Making a face, Lizzy griped, "Don't you start, Char! I swear, if you start treating me like a loony, I'll really go round the bend." She rested her forehead against the warmth of the coffee mug Charlotte had insistently pressed into her hands. "Damn, my head hurts."

Eyeing her roommate warily, Charlotte took the chair next to her masking her face with a guarded expression. Tentatively, she ventured to ask, "How are you….feeling, Liz?"

"Like crap." Normally, Lizzy wasn't one to grouse, but at that moment it felt as though all the memories she'd so carefully pushed away came flooding back to her. "Charlotte, who the hell invited him in the first place?"

Charlotte frowned. "I'm not completely sure, actually. I reckon it was Lydia, but I talked to Jane about it, and…"

"Jane called?" Suddenly, Lizzy's head shot up, as anxious as she was to change the topic. "How'd she get on with Bingley, then? I meant to ask her, but …."

"Lizzy!" screeched Charlotte, completely exasperated at this point. "We didn't talk about that because we were a bit too concerned about your bloody mental breakdown yesterday! Maybe we were wrong to worry, though, since you seem to have forgotten entirely about the whole damn episode!"

Lizzy was silent. Then, slowly: "I'm sorry, Char. Just….hang on a bit, yeah? I'll talk about it, I will, but just….just not right now."

Haltingly, Charlotte released a long breath. "I'm sorry, too. It's just…Lizzy, we were so worried about you! You just took off – no one knew where you were, no one had seen you outside. We were this close to calling the freaking police!" She seemed on the verge of sobbing now, and Lizzy wasted no time in enveloping her friend in a bear hug.

They'd somehow ended up on the sofa again, and Lizzy decided it was about time to confide in her best friend.

Carefully, she began, "I went to the park. I needed a place to be alone – for a bit, anyway. I just sat there, I'm not sure how long. It helped clear my head, anyway." Glancing at Charlotte and seeing that she wasn't about to interrupt anytime soon, Lizzy continued, "Nothing really happened, I suppose. Nothing worth telling you, anyway. When I was done with my pity party, I went straight back to the house."

Charlotte cut her off, saying, "I know. I was there…not that you noticed, anyway. You were way too busy storming into your room."

Her cynical tone was just what Lizzy needed at the moment. The signature twinkle had crept back into her eyes, and she managed a whole-hearted smile. It turned into a full-blown laugh when she met Charlotte's eyes and they both collapsed in fits against the cushions, their hilarity born not so much out of anything comical about the situation, but rather the simple relief that came from unloading a burden.

Suddenly Charlotte's giggles morphed into silence and, in a somber tone, she said, "Liz, just tell me one thing. Why did you react like that when you saw him? Why did you scream when William tried to help you? Lizzy, please be honest with me here ….do you still love him?"

At the question, all the humor was drained from the atmosphere. Lizzy, suddenly pale, looked up at her friend with wide eyes, suddenly at a loss for words. Faltering, she said, "I don't know." Her voice broke as she turned away, ashamed of the hot prickle of tears that stung behind her eyelids. "I know what you want me to say but…I just don't bloody _know_."

If Lizzy had strained her ears at that moment, she'd have caught the swiftly uttered swear Charlotte muttered under her breath upon hearing this news. As it was, she only felt the warmth of her friend's arms wrapping around her shoulders consolingly as she murmured silky, empty words of comfort. "It'll be okay, Liz. I promise. It'll be okay."

And at that moment, the only clear thought swirling about in Lizzy's hopelessly tangled mind was: _But it won't be_.

* * *

Charlotte left the flat after noon, claiming to have a few errands she still needed to run. Lizzy had watched her leave, perched on the window-sill, and found herself unwilling to move long after the last roars of the engine were merely echoes in the garage. So she'd sat, and watched the dazzling rays of the sun fade to a burnished gold. The sky, like a painter's canvas, had changed with it – the garish blue had been replaced with a soft plum color, the shade of mulled wine staining pink lips. Distortedly, Lizzy had thought about how beautiful it all was. And how, before today, she'd never taken the time to notice.

* * *

The computer screen was flooding the room with bright, white light – and, in the dark of the room, it gave the illusion of a lifeline to Lizzy. She sat in front of it like a corpse, unmoving, unblinking, her eyes focused on the page in a farce of reading while her brain didn't seem to register anything.

_Lizzy – _

_ I understand if you never want to see me again. Hell, if I were you, I probably wouldn't either. But I know you, and I know you'll give me another chance, if only so I can explain myself. But before I begin to assume you'll forgive me, just know this: I never meant to hurt you. My actions were out of necessity, and you don't know the whole story. Please, just hear me out. Meet me tomorrow, in our spot, after your classes. _

_ I never stopped loving you, Lizzy. _

_- George_

Her hands were trembling, but she only hovered over the button a minute before pressing it down, hard, with an air of finality about the action. _Delete._

* * *

A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Once again, thanks so much to everyone who took the time to respond to this story - I love you all! Remember, reviews make me smile! :D


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Here's the next chapter! Read and enjoy, everyone!

Disclaimer: *sigh* I don't own anything...

* * *

Chapter 6: Netherfield

Wherever Jane Bennet stepped, proverbial roses sprang up in her wake and echoes of joyful birdsong could be heard ringing about her halo of golden hair. Children called her a fairy and all her boyfriends had considered her an angel. She was practically the Snow White of her era.

So, of course, when Jane Bennet understood that her baby sister was in trouble, she made it a priority to fix it. Dialing her number with practiced motions, she pointedly held the phone up to her ear and tapped her foot in anticipation of the familiar voice.

_Ring….ring…..ring….ring_…. "Jane?" Lizzy intoned, her voice scratchy. She sounded weary, but it was still her, it was her little sister, it was her best friend.

"Lizzy!" Jane exclaimed over the phone, feigning complete ignorance as to the events of last night. She knew that, if she addressed her sister directly about Wickham, Lizzy would shut down again and it would be impossible to talk to her. "Listen…I know you've got classes all week, but what are you doing this weekend?"

Her sister sounded on guard now. "It's Monday, Jane. I haven't had time to think about the weekend yet."

"Great!" Jane said, brightly. "Well, Charles has invited us all to Netherfield" (this was a lie – he had invited Jane to Netherfield and, when Jane had asked for Lizzy to come along, he'd agreed, because Charles Bingley was a genuinely nice guy). "You'll love the place – it's got everything! And it's only for a few hours, on Saturday." Jane knew that, if anything, her sister needed a change of scenery. And Netherfield was a gorgeous change of scenery.

"Jane….you met the guy a few days ago…"

Jane allowed herself a secret smile before replying, "Yes, but we just connected, you know? Don't worry, I'm not getting in over my head again."

Lizzy sighed. "You know you get way too serious way too fast, Jane. I just don't want to see you hurt."

"I'm fine, Lizzy!" Jane insisted. "So is that a yes? It's a yes, isn't it?"

A silence from the other end. Then, reluctantly, "Yeah. Okay, sure. It's a yes."

With a grin, Jane snapped the phone shut. Her work here was done. '

* * *

The week had passed at a snail's pace. Monday was a struggle, because everything was so fresh in her mind. _George_ was still fresh in her mind. But, gradually, she'd begun to forget, throwing herself into her classes and giving them all her time and energy. It wasn't hard to do – medical school required complete focus, anyway. She couldn't afford to allow her mind to drift in Anatomy class, lest she risk dissecting the corpse wrong. Or in the clinic where she assisted, otherwise her patient would have to face the consequences. Her head felt about to explode as it was, and, even if she wanted to, she couldn't possibly cram her personal life in there – there was simply no room left.

Friday was a blessing. All she wanted to do was flop into her bed and sleep for the rest of her life. To hell with her books and her upcoming exam. To hell with Netherfield. To hell with…

She sighed, rubbing her hands across her face. It was eight o'clock on a Friday night, and she was contemplating an early bedtime. She'd turned into her grandmother, sixty years prematurely.

Griping, Lizzy pulled herself up and had started to reheat a can of soup when the doorbell rang. Assuming it was Charlotte, she took her time in answering it.

She was mauled in a huge, bear hug as soon as she'd cracked the door opened. "Jane!" she gasped, wrenching herself away. "Can't breathe!"

Jane laughed, and sat down on the couch. She pulled out a bunch of DVDs, all fluff, and splayed them out on the coffee table. "We're having a night in!" she announced. "I know you, and you need rest. So before our great venture into the lives of aristocracy-"

"They're not aristocracy, Jane…"

"-we're going to have fun!" Her bright smile was too infectious for Lizzy to maintain her irritated manner, and she gave in, finally showing some semblance of a smile.

"I'll get the ice cream," she told her sister, shuffling into the kitchen to scoop out two big bowls of double-double chocolate chip.

They decided on Pride and Prejudice – one of Lizzy's favorite guilty pleasures – and settled down on the worn sofa to watch.

The film was engrossing but, eventually, Lizzy had to ask the question that had been sitting unspoken on her lips since Jane walked in. "So. Charles Bingley?"

Jane blushed furiously, the rosy pink spreading across her cheeks prettily, instead of the splotchy manner that affected everyone else. "Shut up, Lizzy!"

* * *

"Wakey wakey, sleepyheads!"

Lizzy was jolted awake when Charlotte's dulcet tones threatened to rip her eardrums apart. She and Jane had fallen asleep on the couch last night, lulled to sleep by Matthew Macfadyen's hypnotizing voice.

"What time is it?" she murmured tiredly, rubbing her eyes and smoothing back her sleep-mussed hair.

Char pursed her lips and, craning her head to peek at the oven's digital clock, pronounced it to be nine. Lizzy turned to look at Jane, who was just sitting up, and in unison they exclaimed, "Netherfield!"

Hastily scrambling to her room, Lizzy selected a pair of broken-in (read: ratty and old) jeans, with a tank top that had seen better days. Gathering her hair in a quick ponytail after fruitlessly running a comb through it, she declared herself done. Jane, however, who'd already dressed in a sundress over her bathing suit, thought differently.

"Lizzy, we're going swimming!" she said. "They've got a pool that's practically Olympic sized! You need something cute."

After arguing half-heartedly for five straight minutes, they compromised on a bathing suit that wasn't too terrible, and a casual dress that wasn't too terrible, either. Lizzy wanted to be grouchy, but found that she couldn't – after her grueling week, she was looking forward to relaxing in the fabled paradise that Netherfield was rumored to be.

The car ride was stifling – almost a whole hour of sitting and scowling down at her book while Jane sang along to the radio. Lizzy wasn't very good at waiting. But when they rounded the last few miles, and the estate came into view…

_Oh._ So this was what all the hype was about. Lizzy sighed happily as she stepped out of the car, soaking in the beauty around her. Yes, _this_ she could get used to.

Netherfield was set on a lush, rolling piece of land at least two acres across, surrounded with the purpling blossoms of new wildflowers, old oak trees that dripped velvety leaves, carefully cultivated patches of roses that contrasted beautifully with the wild abandon of the scene around it. The house itself was old – Victorian-era, maybe – and white-brick, with turrets that spiraled into the heavens and windows that glinted in the sunlight. It was exquisite.

She walked inside on a cloud, thinking that, if she lived in a place like this, she'd never have to stress again. This was the type of home that melted all stress away. Jane was right beside her, beaming at the house, at the gardens, at the world in general – she had a spring in her step, too, although her reasons for exuberance differed greatly from her sister's, and revolved generally around a man named Charles Bingley.

_Even the door is beautiful,_ Lizzy contemplated dreamily as Jane raised the heavy knocker, which they had in place of a doorbell here.

Charles answered it, a huge smile plastered on his face. "Jane!" he grinned, wrapping her in his arms. After a few seconds, he noticed Lizzy and, somewhat sheepishly, extended her the same welcome. "So glad you could make it," he said, radiating kindness and goodwill and everything that was nice about the world. He was a definitely the perfect man for Jane.

He led them about the house genially, pointing out quirky antiquities and charms of the old place. Lizzy felt like she'd been transported into another age – one of balls and waltzes and dresses that swayed as you twirled on the dance floor, a far cry from the musty heat of a modern-day party.

In the movie room (yes, they had a movie room!) Caroline Bingley, the tacky fake-blonde who Lizzy had noticed with Charles before the party, was lounging on a settee that spanned the length of the wall, watching some trashy sitcom on a flat-screen that hung in front of her. She was wearing shorts that just barely scraped her thighs, and a shirt that ended under her chest, revealing her pierced navel.

"Jane!" she cried, making a show of hugging her. "I'm so happy you're here – I just know that we're going to be the best of friends!"

Somewhat reluctantly, Jane reciprocated her hug, smiling gingerly as Caroline looked up at Lizzy. Her huge, phony smile faltered when she saw her, and, slowly, she questioned, "Charlie? Who's this?"

Charles wrapped a hand around Lizzy's shoulders, comfortingly. "It's Elizabeth, Cara, Jane's sister. You remember her – she hosted that nice party we went to last week. Lizzy, this is my sister, Caroline."

"Oh, yes…" Caroline stated coolly, examining her nails as though Lizzy wasn't even worth the effort of a second glance. "The one who yelled at Will. Of course I remember."

The air was tense, and inside, Lizzy was simmering with the desire to kick this woman. Who the hell did Caroline think she was? But she was a guest in this house, and, well…it was the truth, she supposed. Casually, she said, extending her hand, "It's great to meet you, Caroline."

Caroline made no move to shake it and so, awkwardly, Lizzy retracted her hand and curled it into a fist, her nails grinding into the palm of her hand, trying not to let her irritation show.

In an attempt to break the heavy silence that followed, Charles clasped his hands together and said brightly, "Great! Let's eat!"

Lunch was a quiet affair, punctuated with whispers and giggles from the one couple who seemed happy in the present company, Jane and Charles. Caroline sat stiffly, glowering at Lizzy over her salad, and Lizzy spent most of her time trying to avoid glaring back. Caroline's sister, Louisa Hurst, and her husband were nowhere to be found – according to Charles, they were spending the afternoon golfing with one of Mr. Hurst's middle-aged friends.

Glancing down at her untouched plate, Lizzy was attempting to spear a cherry tomato when she heard a voice that made her glance up, shocked.

"I got held up at work," he was saying, pulling out a seat beside Caroline. "This client…" Abruptly, he broke off, noticing for the first time that they weren't alone. His eyes lingered on Lizzy's for just a few seconds longer than they needed to before he carefully said, "Hi…sorry, I didn't know we were expecting guests."

Jane beamed at him across the table. "You must be Will. I've heard so much about you, I feel like I know you already!"

Darcy half-smiled in return, and said politely how nice it was to finally meet her.

There was a heat rising inside Lizzy, and suddenly she felt cramped, claustrophobic in the huge dining room. Her breath was tight inside her chest, and her thoughts were running rampant, mainly along the line of _oh, shit_. If she had known that he'd be here, she would never have come, she would have stayed at home, she would have …. _Oh, shit._

Charles, taking in her flustered manner, hastily attempted to amend the situation by saying cheerily, "You guys met at the party, I think but Lizzy, this is my friend, William Darcy. Will, Elizabeth."

He inclined her head towards her, slightly. "Elizabeth," he said, her name rolling out of his lips like silk.

She smothered a shiver that ran down her spine, and muttered something incoherent in return, trying in vain not to sneak peeks at him through lowered eyelashes. He was even handsomer than she remembered – the darkness of the party had shadowed his features – and his hair was wet, probably from a quick shower, the sopping strands dripping damp patches on his shirt. Her heart had given a little flutter when she'd seen him, but she'd rapidly put it in check, recalling how ruthlessly he'd punched a man he'd most likely never even met before, how he'd just assumed she was a damsel in distress, how he'd so arrogantly thought that she couldn't take care of herself. It was pity that such good looks were wasted on this man.

Lizzy shook her head, in an attempt to clear her thoughts. Her good sense was telling her to ignore him, just ignore him. She was here to relax, and no amount of taunting from Caroline or ….or whatever Will Darcy was doing to her ….would change that.

* * *

"Come on in!" Jane was saying, goading her by flicking some water out of the pool. "Get in, Lizzy! It's amazing!"

Lizzy laughed, and curled her legs underneath her. The chair she sitting in was amazingly comfy, and she was lying back, with a textbook in hand, letting the dimming sun wash over her. It was a great feeling. "I'd love to, Jane, but I've got this test…"

Jane groaned good-naturedly. "Don't you always?" she said, lazily swimming closer to Charles, who was so obviously smitten with her by now it was painful for anyone who was watching. "Fine, be that way."

Caroline was elegantly seated on a lounge chair, but upon hearing this, she sat up and peered curiously over her rhinestone-encrusted sunglasses. "Lizzy, you'd rather read than enjoy this beautiful day?"

Lizzy shrugged. "If I had any time to spare, I'd be the first to cannonball into the pool, but as it is, I've got to read, so…"

"I've got to say, it's a bit odd, Lizzy," Charles remarked, wrapping an arm around Jane's waist. "You could take a day off, you know."

Jane turned towards him and said, teasingly, "Lizzy's a dedicated med student. You just wouldn't understand her tribulations, Charles!" He smiled congenially at her, planting a sweet kiss on her forehead.

"That must be true, Jane," Caroline observed, swirling the straw around in her drink. "Lizzy is a great student, and a great reader. She must take little pleasure in anything else."

Lizzy decided that she'd had enough, and snapped her book shut in a fluid motion. Her eyes were glinting dangerously, and, in a voice laced with contempt, she hissed, "That's just not true, Caroline. I'm not a great reader, and I take pleasure in a great many things. However, it just so happens that I've got a huge exam coming up, and I know how to prioritize."

This retort earned her a sharp glance from Darcy, who'd been rapidly typing on his laptop up until this point. Lizzy assumed that he was criticizing her inwardly, probably on her inability to have fun on a weekend, but at this point, she really couldn't care less. The exasperation that had been stewing inside her from the moment she'd met Caroline was beginning to show, and she was trying her very best to quell it. Only a few more hours, she was thinking. Netherfield was such a wonderful place, and she could never forgive Caroline for ruining her brief stay here. But right now, she was counting down until the clock struck seven, which was Jane had promised that they could return home.

Caroline had noticed Darcy's gaze stray to Lizzy, and, in an attempt to curry favor with him and take his attention off her, she scooted her chair closer to his and peered over at his laptop, completely unaware that this would probably have the opposite of the desired effect on him. He twitched in vexation, but didn't outwardly say anything.

Not at all discouraged by his utter lack of interest, Caroline persisted by saying, "Will, it's a marvel how fast you type, really…I could never type half as fast as you can."

Shortly, he answered, "Actually, I type rather slowly."

"And all these odious letters of business, as well!" she continued, undaunted. "Why, I'm in awe of you. I've no idea how you manage it."

"It's a good thing, then," Darcy managed, finally swiveling around to face her, "that they fall to my lot instead of yours."

This silenced her for a little while, as she pondered upon his hidden meaning. However, within a matter of minutes, she'd started up again. "And who is the lucky person to whom you're writing, Will? Not a business letter, surely, because you've been writing for ages!"

"It's not a business letter," Darcy said, his teeth grinding together in frustration. The sight of the man reduced to contrived politeness amused Lizzy greatly, and she listened with eager fascination as the conversation continued. "It's to my sister."

"Georgiana!" Caroline blurted, clasping her hands together in delight. "How I miss her! Has she grown very tall, do you think?"

Darcy allowed his eyes to once more wander in Lizzy's direction, then wrenched them away again, perturbed by his own lack of self-restraint. "She's about Elizabeth's height, I should imagine."

Caroline, peeved, tried to sway him again by singing praises of his sister. "Already? At so young an age? Well, Lizzy is not very tall, so I should hope that Georgiana has not quite stopped growing!" She hid a smirk behind a manicured hand. "How is her piano playing?"

"It's very good, Cara, and now, if you don't mind…"

"She is so very accomplished, Will – and so very young! Her playing is simply divine."

Darcy was rubbing his temples, her screeching voice grating on his ears, when Charles interjected, "It's true, Will. All girls these days are so accomplished – they all play piano, sing, dance, speak some foreign language…I've never heard of any girl that doesn't have a list of 'accomplishments' under her belt."

Darcy closed his laptop, glad for his friend's interruption that had allowed him a break from Caroline's incessant simpering. "You're right, Charles. But these girls don't truly deserve the word…actually, I have to say that I only know about six girls who I can truly call accomplished."

"Then you must hold the word to a very high standard," observed Lizzy dryly, finding it too hard to remain silent when this insipid – yet oh so amusing – conversation was taking place.

His eyes found hers again, and again she felt acutely uncomfortable under his gaze. "Yes, actually…." he began, when Caroline once again cut him off.

"Of course he does, Lizzy!" she trilled, delighted that Darcy was at last taking an interest in the discourse. "To be truly accomplished, a girl must understand music, she must be able to sing, draw, dance, and speak at least two languages to truly deserve the word. And besides all this, she must have a certain something about her – in her air, a certain_ je ne sais quoi_ – or else the word will be but half true."

"All this she may have," Darcy added, his eyes never leaving Lizzy's, "but she must also add something more substantial, something intellectual, something only gained by extensive reading."

Lizzy, aghast, threw her book down on the chair as though it were contaminated simply by his comment. "I don't wonder at your only knowing six accomplished women, Darcy," she spat out finally, her disgust getting the better of her. "I now wonder at your knowing any. I definitely don't know anyone with all the virtues you say an accomplished woman must possess."

Caroline cried out in outrage at this statement, instantly declaring that she knew a great many women who fitted this description, the first being Georgiana, of course. Throughout this, Darcy was silent, maintaining a dignified air but studying Lizzy at the same time, as though she were a curiosity. She squirmed, feeling his eyes upon her, and turned her head away. She had half a mind to leave, since she obviously couldn't pick up her book again, but at a pleading glance from Jane she decided to instead slip into the pool, relishing the satiny feel of the warm water enveloping her.

Will Darcy, she decided, making up her mind once and for all, was a pompous, arrogant arse, and she wouldn't give him the time of day. That being said, it didn't change the way she instinctively reacted when he looked at her, or her grudging admission of his good looks – all in all, he confused her, and she was sick of it. All she wanted to do was relax. Relaxing, letting all her problems ooze away – that was why she'd come to Netherfield in the first place, wasn't it? And now here she was, letting an insipid brat and that man get the better of her. She wouldn't take it, that was all. She could give as could as she got, that was for sure, and if anyone doubted it …well she'd show them.

The heated argument dying down, Darcy had once again opened his laptop, his fingers flying across the keys. Caroline, seizing her opportunity, sidled up to him again and said coyly, "Do convey my regards to Georgiana, Darcy. I do miss her so much."

"I just sent the email. I'll be sure to tell her in the next one," Darcy muttered after a moment of silence.

"Georgiana is so very lucky," Caroline sighed rapturously, batting her eyelashes as if there was some dust in her eyes. "The letters Charles writes to me are nowhere near as long or as nice to read as yours, Will."

Charles chucked and admitted, in his usual, blunt fashion, "It's true, I'm afraid – my ideas flow far too rapidly for me to type eloquently what I'm thinking."

Lizzy smiled at him, and noted, "It's nice to see someone humble for a change. I was beginning to think no one here had any flaws!" She said it in a good-natured tone, but it had a subtle undercurrent she meant to sting Darcy directly.

Darcy, catching her meaning, retorted, "Nothing, Charles, is more deceitful than humility. Most of the time, it's carelessness of opinion, or an indirect boast."

"What?" Charles blustered, still grinning. Clearly, he was used to this type of banter with Darcy. "Are you implying that I'm proud of my poor typing skills?"

"Of course not, Charles," Darcy smirked at his friend. "Just that you think speed of any sort is – if not estimable – certainly a very interesting quality, and so your pace of thinking was, in fact, a good thing."

Charles slapped his knee, the smile stretching across his face. "You got me, old chap. But what can I say? Everyone's got their flaws."

"Not Will, surely!" Caroline said shrilly. "He is simply perfect in every way."

Glancing over at Lizzy, whose eyes were fairly shooting daggers at him by now, Darcy conceded, "No, Cara, I'm far from perfect – actually, I have many flaws."

"Oh?" Charles asked, still teasing his old friend. "Is one of them pride, mate?"

Darcy laughed. "Pride is not a fault, Charles."

Lizzy looked up when she heard this. "You don't think so? I would have thought pride to be one of the greatest faults."

"Vanity," Darcy said, meeting her eyes cautiously, "is a fault, it's true – but pride – if pride is given where it is due, where there is a real superiority of mind – pride is nothing to be ashamed of."

His voice was low and, although the conversation had included all of them, it felt as though he were speaking only to her. She was in the pool and he on the chair, but in that second, it seemed to her as if they were the only two people in the world and this was the only conversation that had ever mattered.

"Well!" she said at last. "It really would appear you have no fault. Caroline, you were right."

Darcy shook his head. "No, I don't pretend to be flawless, Elizabeth – my temper is terrible, for one – perhaps what you would call it resentful. My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever."

"That is a failing, it's true," Lizzy granted, snubbed that he had played along and admitted to not being as perfect as he pretended to be. "But I'm afraid I can't laugh at it – it's a pity, for I love a good laugh."

"That's not true at all – everything may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke," Darcy retorted snidely, turning away again.

Lizzy was taken aback. "I'm sure there are many such people, but I should hope that I'm not one of them. Follies, I'll admit, do amuse me, and I laugh at them whenever I can, but I would never ridicule what is wise or good."

"So my failings amuse you, do they?" Darcy asked pointedly.

"Not yours in particular. But, you must admit, everyone does have a fault. And I've decided what yours is – your defect is your propensity to hate everyone!" Lizzy asserted, his pompous attitude grating on her.

"Oh?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow at her. "Then yours is that you willfully misunderstand them."

They were both irate now, with their chests heaving and their eyes flashing. However, Caroline, tired of a conversation that no longer included her, slipped into the pool gracefully and asked Lizzy whether she would like to swim a few laps with her. Lizzy raised her eyebrows quizzically at the odd request, but came to realize that Caroline wanted to grab Darcy's attention in some way - in any way, it would appear. Lizzy, who wanted now to just cool off, agreed, thinking that the exercise might calm her down.

Halfway through the first lap, Caroline petitioned Darcy in a similar manner, asking if he wanted to join them in the pool. When he declined politely, she whined, "Come on Will, you're never any fun! Why won't you come in with us?"

"Because," Darcy said, looking over at both of them. "There are only two possible reasons you could want to swim around the pool together. One, you need to talk to each other. Or two, you are aware that your figures appear to the best advantage while swimming."

Lizzy's eyes widened slightly at this comment, but Darcy went on, "If the first, I would only be in your way. If the second" – and here, he looked directly at Lizzy – "I can much better admire you from here." Caroline burst out laughing at this, but Darcy's eyes were still fixed on Lizzy, and she could have sworn she saw the remnants of a smile playing about his lips. She wasn't sure what it was about that almost-smile that made her heart quicken, her chest tighten, and her breath come short, but she knew she didn't like it. Flushing, she turned away. She didn't like it at all.

Suddenly, a piercing scream filled the air. Jane, who had been climbing out of the pool to get a towel, fell on the slick tiles beside the waters, and was now lying prone on the floor, her face chalky white and her foot twisted at an unnatural angle.

* * *

"Is she going to be alright?" Charles was questioning fretfully. "Is there anything else that I can do?"

Jane was lying in a huge bed that seemed to swallow her whole, her eyes closed, her foot wrapped in gauze and secured with a cast.

"She'll be fine," Lizzy assured Charles, her medical training kicking in. "Trust me, it's just a sprain. Problem is, she can't be moved right now, otherwise it might dislodge the bone. She'll stay like that for about twenty four hours."

Inwardly, she was conflicted. Should she leave her sister alone - alone _here - _in the company of these despicable people? It seemed cruel, especially considering her medical background, to abandon Jane like this, in a place she knew nothing of, when she was at her most vulnerable. If she stayed with her, maybe she could help speed along the healing process, and they could both get home before Monday. She heaved out a reluctant breath, and began, "Charles, I hate to impose, but..."

He cut her off, saying, "No, not at all. I insist that you both stay here – Lizzy, I know Jane wants you to stay with her. It would be our pleasure to have you stay a little longer."

Lizzy smiled at his kindness. "Thank you, Charles," she said, her voice warm with gratitude. Softly, she added, "I'm glad that she picked you."

His face turned bright red, and, blustering, he left the room with the excuse of making Jane some tea.

Sighing, Lizzy turned to her sleeping sister. It looked like they were going to be here for a while.

* * *

A/N: There you have it, the sixth chapter! Thank you to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter, you guys have no idea how much I really appreciate it!

Also, looking at the reviews for this chapter, "The Talk" (aka, the Regency-modeled conversation about accomplished women) wasn't very clear. Just to clarify - I don't know if any of you ever lived in England, but when I grew up, all of these "accomplishments" were still very big. We actually had an etiquette class that taught us the things like how to behave in public, how to dance in a social setting, etc. Music class was required, and knowledge of all the fine arts was considered a great advantage. Learning piano was the bane of my childhood, since I'm not musically inclined in any way, and my friends and teachers all assumed that "proper young ladies" need to know how to play. I'm not saying that it may be weird for this to occur in some other place, but in this setting, I think it's very plausible. And also keep in mind that Darcy and Caroline are London elite, thereby making them less progressive in their ways than Lizzy. They're still pretty much stuck on things that show class distinction, or, as people know would probably think of it, who has more money.

Remember - reviews make me smile! :D


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: The Price of Roses

Whenever Lizzy was overwhelmed – be it with her mother, with work, or with herself – she took a walk. Don't ask her why, she couldn't explain it. But there was something about feeling that crisp morning breeze whip her face, about hearing that hummingbird twittering near her ear, about drinking in all the joy and beauty that the place had to offer that made her feel alive again.

Unless, of course, that place was mid-spring England.

There wasn't a bird within a fifty mile radius of this place – they were probably all huddled at home, trying to escape the cold and notorious spring drizzle that Lizzy was currently subjected to. The skies were overcast, and all the tiny patches of glittering golden sun were obscured by the leafy canopy above her. Long story short, it was a typical, drizzly, miserable morning.

But Lizzy didn't care; her sole thought had been to get out of that house. She felt stifled in there…those people, with their arrogant, elitist attitudes, their assumptions of women that were stuck in the 1800s, their annoying, smug smiles that indicated their own delusional feelings of superiority. Honestly, you'd think they'd just stepped out of an Austen novel!

Her breath coming short, she sat down heavily on a nearby boulder, taking in her surroundings. For the last two hours, she'd been following a trail that had stemmed from the house, but now she was winding back towards it. She recognized those perfect roses that framed either side of an old oak tree. They were crimson red, and their petals still curled around a few sparkling beads of rain.

Speaking of the rain – it seemed to have stopped now. Surprised, she glanced upwards. The steady, slow downpour that had been coming down for as long as she'd been outside had eased up, and now the sky was swathed in a mystical, warm light that appeared to paint even the clouds with a dazzling, ethereal sheen.

She smiled to herself happily. _This_ was what she'd come here for. Nothing fancy, nothing added, nothing fake. She closed her eyes and stretched her hands out behind her, just listening. The last droplets of rain were falling, and they splashed on her face softly, almost like tears of the heavens – although what the heavens could have to be upset about right now, she really couldn't fathom. _Drip, drop. Plink, plop._ This was as close to paradise as she could imagine – a dirty, muddy, wet paradise but it was paradise all the same.

Opening her eyes, she turned over to the rose patch beside her. They really were beautiful. It was odd, now that she thought about it, but who had grown them? Netherfield had been uninhabited for at least a solid three years, given that the price was too outrageously high for any working man to even consider renting. Charles had only moved in a few weeks ago. She pursed her lips and frowned quizzically. As far as she knew, there was no housekeeper in the home. Slowly, her beam broadened as, delightedly, she realized she didn't want to know. Let this little mystery stay a mystery. Her own mystery. The idea that a garden of beautifully grown, beautifully maintained flowers could spring up out of nowhere thrilled her to no end, and she leaned over to examine them more closely. The petals were velvety, scarlet semi-circles that all spiraled inwards, coiled towards the center. She moved to touch one, when….

_Crap._ How could she have forgotten? Sheepishly, she snatched her hand away, grimacing at the speck of blood that had begun to blossom on the pad of her finger. Everything this dazzling came with a price, it had to – that was the rule of nature.

She was so engrossed in nursing the cut that she didn't hear the crunching of footsteps on leaves behind her. When she heard a twig snap, she whirled around with such force her breath caught, brandishing the thorn that she'd squeezed out of her finger.

"Whoa," the man said, his hands up with a grin on his face. "It's just me."

_Is that supposed to be good?_ Lizzy wondered, offering him a tight smile and turning back to the garden. Maybe if she just avoided him, he'd go away.

No such luck. If William Darcy was anything, he was a persistent little bastard. "We're about to have lunch. Do you want to head on back?"

Lizzy got up and gingerly dusted herself off. "I'll be there in a second," she muttered, a clear indication to any normal human being that she didn't want to be disturbed right now.

But this guy couldn't take a hint. "They're beautiful, aren't they?" he was saying now, nodding his head towards roses.

She had to smile now. If even this arrogant egomaniac could appreciate them, the flowers must possess some kind of magical quality. Grudgingly, she turned to him and admitted, "Yes, they are," before looking him full in the face. _Damn him!_ Why did he have such an effect on her? Rationally, she knew what he was like – she'd seen his true colors, after all. But somehow, whenever she saw him, she couldn't bring herself to tear away. What was it about his eyes – how could they be so cold, so sharp, so blue…and yet so warm at the same time?

Those eyes right now were roving her face, and seemed to have picked up on something strange. She didn't know how he could tell, because she could've sworn that his eyes never left hers, but she saw him reaching for her hand, as though he knew it was bleeding. Furrowing his brow, Darcy studied the cut, a soft expression stealing over his features. Gently, he asked, "What happened?" If she hadn't known any better, she would have said that he seemed almost concerned.

Lizzy was disarmed. The steady warmth of his hand enveloping hers was unsettling, and for a brief moment she felt heady. Collecting what was left of her wits, she pulled her hand away and smiled ruefully. "Nothing, really," she told him, trying to avoid looking at him. "I just forgot that roses come with thorns."

That damned half-smile was tugging at his mouth again. Slowly, in a hushed manner, he said, "Yes…but isn't the rose worth its thorns?" His voice was low, as though he were sharing a secret meant only for her ears. Ostensibly, his meaning was clear, but for some reason Lizzy felt as though he were saying something else. Only she couldn't quite figure out what.

Her mind once again foggy (_damn_ him!) she looked up at him again, somewhat disoriented. "Yes," she affirmed. "Yes, I suppose it is."

With that, she mustered the remnants of her pride and wrenched herself away. Away from his eyes. Away from him.

* * *

He watched her go, her retreating figure slowly vanishing into the woods. Sighing, he raked a hand through his hair, closing his eyes in frustration. His thoughts were whirling through his mind, and his usual calm, collected demeanor was frazzled. What was happening to him?

It was her, he knew. This was all her damn fault. What was she doing to him? She was so different, so unlike any other girl he'd ever met. The likes of Caroline Bingley couldn't hold a candle to her natural wit, her sparkling eyes, her fiery nature. What other girl did he know who would, on a miserable Sunday morning, walk outside and admire the roses? She had been completely soaked, with wet tangles of hair curling down her shoulders, and her soggy jeans caked with mud. But she didn't appear to notice. When he'd first spotted her, a blur on the edge of the horizon, she'd been sitting back on a jagged edge of rock, her face tipped up to meet the heavens, a smile dancing on her lips. A wood sprite, an elf, a nymph, a fairy.

_No,_ he told himself harshly, snapping out of it. _A fantasy._ For that was all she was, really. A fantasy. A beautiful dream that could never be his. He could never allow himself to make the mistake of paying Elizabeth Bennet too much attention.

Suddenly, unbidden, his earlier statement came back to him._ Is it true?_ he allowed himself to wonder, almost reluctantly. The phrase had just tumbled out of his mouth before, as if it had been waiting on his lips all along. But only now did he pause to ponder its meaning. _Was the rose worth its thorns?_

* * *

A/N: Hello, lovelies! I posted this update quickly, because, soon, real life is going to get in the way, and I may not be able to update as fast! (I promise you, though, if you guys keep reading, I will keep updating!) :) Again, thanks to all of you reviewed, some of your comments really helped me! Your opinions are super-important, because, like I keep saying, I want to be an author someday and all of these little things are what will hopefully help me reach that goal! So remember to read and review, guys!

(On a side note, if you guys like these types of fics, check out my first one-shot, _Remember?_. I'm really excited about it - of course I am, it's my first one-shot! So please read it and drop a review to let me know how you liked it! Thanks :D!)


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